Choices
by Kittystitch
Summary: Often the hardest choices to accept are those made by others.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This follows the events in "Boot Camp" and is also a sequel to "The Fog of War". It might also help to watch the episode "The Expendables", available on YouTube._

 **CHOICES, Part 1**

Another gust of wind blew sheets of rain against the window and rattled the panes. Chief could only imagine the profanity his teammates were spouting as they suffered through the endurance maneuvers they'd been on for the last three days. They'd definitely be in foul moods when they got back. His bullet wound had kept him out of this one, but at the moment he wished he were in the field with the guys, no matter how wet and cold it was. He liked the solitude, but he was running short of things to keep him busy.

He closed the booklet he'd been trying to study, a primer on conversational French that Garrison had given them, tossed it onto the side table next to his chair, and picked up a dart. A well-aimed throw impaled it into the paneling at the edge of the dart board, along with the others. Hitting the target didn't hold much appeal. Trying to line them up around the edge was more of a challenge.

He heard the door open behind him.

"Bored?" Garrison asked.

"What makes you say that?" He tossed another dart.

Garrison set his briefcase on the table and walked over to the chair, picking up the sling from where Chief had wadded it up and dropped it on the floor. "How's the shoulder feeling?"

"Good." Another dart joined its companions.

"Your medical release came through. When the others get back, you can start working out with them again."

"Bet they're havin' a grand ol' time out there."

"I'll bet." Garrison flipped over the discarded booklet and read the title. "A little light reading?"

"Not much of a plot." Thunk went another dart.

"Why don't you get changed and come to London with me."

"What for?" Actually, that sounded interesting, but he didn't trust what the Warden might have in mind.

"I'm meeting with a task force to evaluate the Resistance training program. I'd value your input."

"I got nothin' to put in." Thunk.

"Sure you do. You helped develop the course. You know what worked and what didn't. You can help make it better."

"Will Finch be there?" If he never saw the Brigadier General again, he could die happy.

"No. He's gone back to Italy," Garrison assured him. "Come on. Dinner's on me."

That sounded like a good deal. He stood and tossed the last dart, and it joined the others in the mahogany paneling. "Alrighty. I'll drive."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

He'd changed into a white shirt and his navy blue jacket, but Chief still felt out of place at OSS Headquarters in London. Everyone else was in uniform. The odd glances he got made his fingers itch. If they'd been anywhere else, the knife would have been in his hand, folded but ready. When he followed Garrison into the small conference room, the quizzical looks he got from the other two officers didn't help, either. He didn't know if the nature of their team was common knowledge in the organization, but he really didn't care. What the brass thought of him and his teammates made no difference, as long as it didn't get in the way of doing the job and staying alive.

Garrison did the requisite introductions. "Captain Mark Beal, Captain Art Rizzo, Chief is my scout and wheel man. He helped teach the first training class."

Captain Beal wore the buzz cut of a serious officer, and his cold grey eyes followed Chief as he rounded the table. Only Captain Rizzo stood to shake his hand. He was older than Beal, with a bit of a paunch, a warm smile under a thick, greying mustache, and a strong grip. "Welcome, son. We'll appreciate any insight you can give us. Help yourself to the coffee."

The smell of real coffee was enticing. They took seats, and he accepted the cup Garrison poured for him from the pot in the center of the table. It was hot and strong.

"We're still waiting on Major Richards," Rizzo explained.

Garrison straightened in his chair. "I didn't know Richards was involved in this." They had an uneasy relationship with the Major, but Chief knew that wouldn't keep Garrison from treating him with the respect the rank required.

"I didn't either," Rizzo admitted. "But evidently he's heading this meeting."

Garrison slipped several folders from his brief case, each in a thick cover stamped "Top Secret", and handed one to each of the other officers. "This is the preliminary report on the first training session."

Captain Beal flipped his folder open, and a smirk crossed his face. "I understand that fiasco ended in disaster."

Garrison's glare would have frozen hell. "My men stopped an attack on an airbase, Captain. I wouldn't call that a disaster."

"Still, the training wasn't completed. I don't see how you can come to any conclusions about its effectiveness."

"Once you've read the report..."

The door swung open as Major Richards strode in, his hat tucked neatly under his arm. Before anyone could stand, he commanded, "As you were, gentleman. Sorry I'm late."

Arrogance and superiority wafted from the man like bad cologne, just as it had on their first encounter with him. Even his apology was half-hearted. But in spite of that, Chief knew the man had the gumption to admit his mistakes and try to right them, something most men in positions of power couldn't handle.

Richards walked to the head of the table and dropped the papers he was carrying, then glanced quickly around the table. His eyes came to rest on Chief.

Chief smiled, daring him to say something pompous. But Richards warmly returned the smile. "Chief, it's good to see you, son. I heard what happened. How is your shoulder?"

"Fine. Thanks." Chief caught Garrison's quick glance. He figured the Warden had been expecting some other reaction from Richards, too.

"Gentlemen, we're going to have to postpone this meeting," Richards continued. "Garrison, I'm glad you brought Chief with you. I have a rather urgent assignment for you. "

"The rest of my team is on endurance maneuvers, sir. I can get them back here by tomorrow..."

"There's no time for that. This is top priority, and needs to be handled as soon as possible."

Captain Beal sat up, dropping the report he'd been reading. "Sir, my full team is ready to move out on a moment's notice."

"I need you and your team to handle the new set of students arriving tonight for the resistance training, Captain. Lieutenant Garrison's report should tell you everything you need to know. Check with General Finch's office for anything else you need. Garrison and Chief will handle this immediate mission."

"But sir..."

"You and Rizzo are free to go. I'll have my clerk contact you when this meeting is rescheduled."

"Thank you, sir." Rizzo rose from his seat and gave the Major a brief salute, but Beal sat still, scowling across the table at Garrison.

"Come on, Mark," Rizzo urged. "I want to show you that decryption I was talking about."

Beal slowly pushed from his chair, but his stare stayed on Garrison as he made his way around the table.

When the door had closed, Richards finally sat and opened one of his folders.

"What's so urgent, Major?" Garrison asked.

Chief leaned forward and picked up a pencil from the table, flipping it idly between his fingers. Anything to occupy his hands. Now he really wished he were out on maneuvers with the others.

"One of our agents in Paris has gotten his hands on what he claims are German plans for a U-boat assault on the American east coast. He's encrypted them into a book and hidden it on a back shelf in this book shop." Richards slid a scrap of paper across the table to Garrison. "We need to get hold of that book. According to our agent, those plans are imminent. You'll go into Le Havre by sub tonight. Use whatever resources you have there to get in and out of Paris."

"Why not Beal's team, sir? They're all available and ready."

Richards gave him a sideways smile. "Are you trying to get out of another mission, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. Of course not. It's just that..."

"I know," Richards chuckled. "I once chose your team because I didn't appreciate their value. Now I'm choosing you because you've proven just how valuable you are. Seems like you can't win, doesn't it?"

Richards handed Garrison the rest of the file folder. "Here are all the other details you'll need. Any questions?"

Garrison looked over the brief information, committing it to memory. It would be burned before they left the building. "No, sir. I think that covers it."

Richards rose to leave, and Garrison also stood. "Then I'll see you back here on Wednesday. I don't have to remind you how important this is. Good luck, gentlemen."

After the door had closed behind Richards, Chief tossed the pencil into the middle of the table. "I guess that means dinner's a bust."

"When we get back. I promise." Garrison gathered up the rest of his materials and shoved them back into his briefcase.

"Yeah, when we get back..." Chief sighed, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice. "This Captain Beal. You two have a history?"

"I ran a couple of missions with him a while back."

"So there's a reason he don't like you."

"He's a hard man to read. I just try to avoid him. Come on, let's go see if we can requisition some gear."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Garrison kept enough clothes in a locker at Headquarters to outfit them both as French peasants. They loaded a small duffle with the gear they thought they'd need, and boarded the sub at 19:00.

Chief leaned back on the bench and laid his head against the bulkhead, closing his eyes. The sub's mess hall reeked of onions and diesel fumes, and the droning engines vibrated the whole compartment. He'd dozed, but real sleep was impossible.

Garrison sat across the table from him, disassembling and cleaning his side arm. "Ma voiture a besoin d'essence," he repeated for the third time. "Come on, translation."

"I dunno. Somethin' about the essence of a car."

"It means 'My car needs gasoline'."

"Close enough."

"Repeat it in French."

Chief gave it his best shot, but he was getting tired of this game.

Garrison snorted a laugh. "Okay, just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking."

"C'mon, Warden. Don't tell me your French don't have an American accent."

"Not much of one, I hope."

"You probably wish you had Actor here instead of me."

That elicited a smile from Garrison. "You'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Chief crossed his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them, closing his eyes again. And again he went over the details of the mission. Drive to the book shop on the outskirts of Paris, give the code phrase, pick up the book, then drive back to Le Havre and meet the sub. It seemed simple. It always did. It was a waste of time worrying about all the ways things could fall apart. But Garrison was as relaxed as if he were on a pleasure cruise, expecting nothing more at the end of the day than a pretty woman and a good bottle of wine. The man was definitely crazy. Or had a death wish. Or both. But Chief had made the choice to trust him. And he'd never regretted it.

But he was curious. "Where'd you learn French?"

Garrison finished reassembling his pistol and snapped a full clip into place. "We spoke it at home when I was young. And I brushed up on it in OSS training."

The intercom speaker blared to life. "We're surfacing, Lieutenant Garrison. Be ready to disembark. We can't stay up long."

Garrison stood and grabbed the gear bag. "That's our cue. Let's get this done."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

They'd paddled ashore in Le Havre before dawn, hidden the small boat, and then awakened their contact, a gnarled little gnome of a man Garrison knew only as Bon Temps. He'd reluctantly opened his door to them at Garrison's whispered password. They had not had the luxury of radioing ahead. But he was able to loan them a rusty old Citroen with half a tank of gas and untraceable license plates. With Chief driving, they arrived at the shop before it opened.

It was simply called La Boutique du Livre, and it was in one of Paris' western suburbs, an area that had taken a particularly tough beating during the German invasion. But life seemed to go on in the grey, broken remains of homes and shops. Frenchmen, as drab and defeated as their crumbling surroundings, wandered into the start of another day, probably believing this was the new normal. He'd been to Paris before, on that very first mission. Back then, it was just another city. His focus had been on staying alive. But Chief had heard Actor's stories of Paris before the war, with its lights and colors and vibrance. The devastation surrounding them now was a revelation. He wondered if any society could recover from this kind of destruction.

While they sat in the car at the end of the block, waiting for the proprietor to arrive to begin his business day, they ate the dried fruit Bon Temps had given them, washing it down with tart cider.

"This guy in on the plan?" Chief asked, chewing on a dried fig, keeping his eyes on the street.

"He is. We've run cyphers through his shop before."

A tall, well-dressed man hurried around the corner and up the street, carrying an umbrella and a lunch pail, and he stopped at the shop's front door, fumbling with a large ring of keys. "That him?"

"That's him. Let's go."

The tiny shop was stuffed to the rafters with books of every description, lined on shelves to the ceiling, and stacked in haphazard piles, some on the verge of toppling. Shafts of dust-filled sunlight streamed through the large front windows, and the smell of old paper and dry leather was heavy in the still air.

At the musical sound of the bell over the door, the gangly proprietor turned to greet them with a smile. "Bonjour, messieurs. Comment puis-je vous aider?"

"Bon jours, Monsieur Marchand. Je cherche une première édition de The Scarlet Letter," Garrison answered in his perfect French, even giving the book's title an accented lilt.

Monsieur Marchand's expression went from helpful to confused to frightened in quick succession, but he managed to stammer a response, the countersign, Chief figured. "Je me demande pourquoi la lettre n'a pas été vert." Then he switched to heavily accented English. "But I gave it to the young lady."

"What do you mean? What young lady?"

Chief felt the adrenalin kick in. This was one of those hitches he couldn't have imagined.

"She came in just as I was closing last night. She gave the correct sign, so I gave her the book. Were there suppose to be two books?"

"Do you know her?"

"I do not know her name, but I believe she lives in the apartment building at the north end of the street. I have seen her go in and out there." Marchand was pale, his eyes wide. "I am sorry, monsieur, if I have done the wrong thing. It is just that she knew the signal..."

"No, it's alright." Garrison took a breath and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Give me the address. We'll straighten it out."

Once they were back in the car, Chief's impatience got the best of him. "How'd that get fouled up?"

Garrison chewed on his lower lip. "I wish I knew."

"So what's the plan now?"

"There's only one thing we can do. We need to find our mystery woman and get that book."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Chief drove past it slowly first. It was an old, two-story brick structure, once a private dwelling, but now converted into apartments. The front steps were crumbling, and most of the windows were broken and boarded. All seemed quiet, so he circled the block and parked at the far end. As they started to get out of the Citroen, a German staff car sped past them and pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of the building. A Major and three soldiers spilled out, rushed up the steps, and stormed inside.

"Damn." Garrison cursed under his breath.

"That's it, then. We got no chance of gettin' that book now."

"We're not out of it yet. We wait."

It was only minutes before the officer marched back down the steps, followed by the soldiers. Two of them dragged a young woman between them.

Chief's heart stopped. "Warden..."

"I see her."

Chief had not heard from Jeanette DuPres since she'd nursed him back to health at the Convent of St. Joan months ago, after another disastrous mission. They'd left her with the French Resistance then, and in his quieter moments, he'd often thought about her sunshine bright hair, flashing green eyes, and her intoxicating fragrance, a mixture of roses and warm earth. Now she looked small and terrified, but was pulling against her captors, trying her best to stay defiant and in control.

Chief reached for the door handle, but Garrison caught his arm. "We can't help her. We're outgunned."

"They'll kill her."

"They'll kill us. And we're no good to her dead."

"But we can't..."

"I said no."

He knew Garrison was right, but that didn't ease his feeling of utter helplessness. He could only grip the wheel and watch as Jeanette was handcuffed and forced into the back of the vehicle, and it drove away down the street.

He started the engine, but again Garrison grabbed his arm. Chief glared at him. "We gotta follow 'em."

"We have to find the book."

"You know what they'll do to her."

"Believe me, I know. But the book is our priority." Garrison climbed out of the car and headed for the apartment building, and all Chief could do was go after him.

It wasn't difficult to identify Jeanette's apartment. The Germans had left the door ajar. It was tiny and neat, decorated with a few pieces of mismatched furniture. The crucifix hanging on the wall over the single bed was the definitive clue. Jeanette had been a novice at the convent and had given up that calling for one she felt was more urgent. There wasn't much to search, so it only took them a few minutes to determine that if she still had the book, she had hidden it somewhere else. Or the Germans had it.

In an act of frustration, Garrison slammed the last cabinet door shut.

"So how do we find her?" Chief wanted to know.

Garrison walked a circle around the small room, as if looking for someplace else to search. At first, Chief thought the Warden hadn't heard him, but he finally answered, "This is Paris. I know people."

"Somebody besides that book store guy, I hope."

"Don't worry. We'll find her."

Chief wished he were as confident.


	2. Chapter 2

For fifteen minutes, Garrison directed him through the ruins of the Paris suburbs, each street more devastated than the last. Chief flexed his fingers, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. He couldn't get the image of Jeanette's terror out of his head.

"Try not to think about it," Garrison said, as if he was reading his mind.

That wasn't possible. She'd tended his wounds, both physical and emotional, she'd risked her life for him. He remembered her tears that morning by the river, and the taste of her mouth. If there hadn't been a war, if she hadn't been a nun, if they'd both been free... Too many 'ifs'.

"It's the hardest part of the job." Garrison's voice was low with the weight of his own memories. "The people you get close to."

Chief took a deep breath, trying to banish unwanted images, and maneuvered around another pile of rubble.

"The middle of the next block," Garrison told him. "The tailor shop with the red sign. If anyone has any information, it'll be Augie."

It was a tiny shop, its short counter piled high with bolts of cloth in varying shades of grey. The tall, lanky, red-headed young man half hidden behind the stacks greeted them pleasantly, with the vaguest flicker of recognition. Chief could hear the German accent under his French.

Garrison exchanged what sounded like simple pleasantries with the young man, who then beckoned them to follow him into the back office. An inconspicuous door led to yet another small, windowless storeroom, and after the door was closed behind them, the young man shoved boxes out of the way and lifted a carpet to reveal a trap door. He and Garrison pulled the heavy door up, and they made their way, one at a time, down the steep ladder into the darkness.

Chief lowered the door over his head as he descended. When it was tightly closed, a match flared, and the young man lit a candle. The cramped, hidden cellar had a dirt floor and rough wooden walls. An incongruous rack of German Army uniforms was pushed to one side.

"I was not expecting you," the young man said.

"I know, Augie, I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting to need your help. Have you heard anything about the Germans taking a prisoner this morning?"

Augie's blue eyes grew wide, and he slumped against the wall. "Mon dieu. It is true, then. They arrested Jeanette."

"You know her?" Garrison asked.

Of course he knew her. The sudden realization produced an unfamiliar tightness in Chief's chest. They were more than friends.

"She wanted to do this by herself," Augie explained. "I should never have let her go alone..."

Chief's control snapped. He grabbed Augie's shirt and slammed him against the wall. "You set her up..."

"Chief..." Garrison pushed between them and shoved him back, glaring an angry warning. Keeping a stiff arm against his chest, Garrison turned back to Augie. "You knew about the book?"

Augie's eyes narrowed. "I received the message yesterday. They said it was urgent."

"Who sent the message?"

"I only know the code name. He is the one I usually deal with."

Garrison just shook his head. "Do you know where they're holding her?"

Augie's face paled, and he licked his lips. "Probably at the barracks on Rue Mirabeau, but they would not keep her there long. They will send her to SS headquarters in the city." His wide blue eyes pleaded with Garrison. "You must do something. If they get her into the city..."

Chief felt the knot tightening. They'd already had her for over an hour. "You better have a plan, Warden."

He saw the muscles twitch in Garrison's jaw as a strategy came together. "We'll need uniforms, Augie. And a car, if possible."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

What used to be a school had been converted into the headquarters and barracks for the German Army unit in charge of the district. They'd driven around it twice. Now, from where they had parked at the end of the block, the only security seemed to be a guard at each side entrance, and two at the front door, who smoked and chatted leisurely.

"What if they already moved her?" Chief asked, resettling the German Army officer's cap on his head. He would've been more comfortable wearing the helmet of an anonymous foot soldier.

"One problem at a time." Garrison adjusted his own cap and pulled on the snug grey gloves. "You have to be prepared for whatever we find in there. I don't need you going off half-cocked, got it?"

Chief didn't like the doubt he saw in the Warden's eyes. It reflected his own dread. If they'd hurt her in any way, he didn't know if he'd be able to stay focused. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I got it."

"Just relax and follow my lead. You probably understand more German than you realize. You'll be fine."

"Right. Relax." With another calming breath, Chief got out of the car and walked around to open Garrison's door, then fell into step behind him as he headed for the building's main entrance.

The two slouching guards snapped to attention at their approach, and Garrison breezed past them with a cursory salute. Chief had seen Garrison and the others do this countless times, and he wondered how they kept from sweating, kept their stomachs from wadding into knots. He'd slipped his knife into his pocket, but it wasn't enough. He rested his hand on the side arm at his hip.

The lone sergeant at the desk inside the front door stood and saluted. Garrison pulled a folded paper from his breast pocket and flashed it open quickly for the sergeant to see, before replacing it in his pocket. The mock-up of official papers that Augie had provided was good enough for a glance, but wouldn't have passed a closer inspection. Coupled with Garrison's commanding presence, it was enough.

Chief caught the occasional word of Garrison's German. He recognized 'prisoner' and 'interrogation'. The sergeant seemed reluctant at first, questioning Garrison's orders, but again the Warden's insistence, and the SS insignia on his collar, convinced the sergeant to do as he was ordered. He picked up the phone, dialed a number, and barked some instructions.

The wait felt endless. Garrison turned casually to him and mumbled something, pulling out a cigarette. Chief took out his matches, struck one, and lit it. Garrison gave him a quick, reassuring smile. "Danke."

The commotion of doors opening drew his attention down the hallway, and a pair of soldiers appeared, pulling Jeanette between them. As they approached out of the shadows, Chief could see her hands were cuffed behind her, and she could barely walk. Her face was badly bruised and her left eye was swollen almost shut. There was dried blood matted in her blonde hair. When her eyes finally focused on him, she whimpered and began to sob. Anger flooded him, threatened to choke him. He took a step forward, his hand closing over the gun...and he realized Garrison had spoken to him. "Leutnant, bekommen Sie das Auto."

He heard the word for 'car', and saw the warning in Garrison's eyes, as he gestured toward the door.

"Leutnant..." Garrison repeated.

He tried to take steady breaths, tried to swallow his anger. It took every fiber of willpower he could muster to pull himself to attention, turn away from the bloodied, frightened girl, and walk calmly out the door.

As he pulled the car up, Garrison was coming down the front steps, holding Jeanette firmly by the arm, supporting her. Chief jumped out and ran to open the rear door, to help Garrison ease her into the back seat. She tried to smile at him, tried to speak.

"Not now," Garrison whispered. "You're my prisoner. Act like it. Chief, take us slowly out of here."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

They'd driven up and down random streets for an hour. Chief knew they weren't being tailed, but Garrison was taking no chances. When Chief wasn't keeping his eyes on the traffic, he watched Jeanette in the back seat through his rear view mirror. Garrison had released her handcuffs, and at first she'd tried to speak, but all she could do was sob. Eventually she'd curled up next to Garrison, his arm around her, and fallen asleep.

They dared not take her back to Augie's tailor shop, so Garrison eventually directed him into a warehouse district. It once might have been a bustling center of commerce, but the buildings were now abandoned. A few rusting trucks were still parked where they'd been left when the shelling started. Far to the rear, near the railroad tracks, Garrison had him pull up next to a one-story cinder block building. Together they lifted the sleeping girl from the back seat, and Chief followed Garrison inside, carrying Jeanette with her head resting on his shoulder. She was weightless, as slender as a fawn, and warm against his chest.

The inconspicuous building had been used as a safe house before. One back room had a table, a couple of chairs, and a cot with some worn blankets. A black shade covered the single window, and there was only a nub of a candle for light. He gently laid Jeanette on the cot and covered her with one of the blankets, easing another under her head as a pillow.

Sitting on the side of the cot, he gently brushed her soft hair away from her eyes. The bruises were already turning purple, but the swelling had stopped. On her forehead was the gash that had left her hair streaked with dried blood. It was red and puckered.

"How is she?" Garrison asked quietly.

"How do ya think she is?" That sounded more angry than he intended. He took a breath. "Think we could get some water? And soap? Maybe some bandages?"

"I'll bring some back with me."

"Where're you goin'?"

"I'm going to return the car and uniforms to Augie, and let him know what happened. You stay here with Jeanette."

"She's comin' back with us."

"If she wants."

After they'd changed back into their street clothes, Garrison drove away in the black sedan. Trying to shake the restlessness out of his muscles, Chief wandered the other rooms, opening drawers, rifling through cabinets and boxes, looking for anything useful. Or edible. His stomach growled. Garrison would come back with the ugly old Citroen, where they'd stashed the remainder of the morning's dried fruit and cider.

He drifted back to the room where Jeanette slept, and stood in the doorway watching her, feeling oddly alone for the first time in a long time. He preferred being on his own, but he was unprepared for being responsible for someone else. He lowered himself to the floor next to the cot, in the gloom of the dark room, and leaned against the wall, watching Jeanette's steady breathing. Her pale hair was longer now, and her complexion had lost its healthy glow, slowly being replaced by the darkening bruise. He knew what she'd been through. He had those memories. The thought of them doing the same thing to her made his stomach churn. She was a girl. A child.

He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and tried to concentrate on something else. The book. He knew they weren't leaving without it. But he silently thanked Garrison for not shaking Jeanette awake to question her about where she'd hidden it.

At the squeak of the cot springs, he looked up. Jeanette was pushing up onto one elbow, trying to sit upright. He got to his feet and helped her turn and lean back against the wall.

Her smile transformed her swollen face into an angel's. "Boris..."

He grinned back at her. It was the name she'd given him at the convent, when his head wound had kept him from remembering his own.

"You're not a dream," she whispered.

"You alright?" It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't alright.

She shuttered, then started shivering uncontrollably. "I don't think so." She held a hand out to him. "Please hold me."

He settled next to her on the cot, pulling her to him, wrapping both arms around her slim shoulders. She felt frail and fragile, as if he could crush her if he held her too tightly. She huddled against him and buried her face against his chest. Her trembling made his heart hurt. He needed to take away her pain, erase the whole hellish experience for her, make her the sweet, talkative, scrappy school girl he'd first met. It wasn't going to happen. He pulled her tighter, the rhythm of her heartbeat soft under his hand.

Slowly her shaking subsided. He thought she'd fallen back to sleep, until she suddenly sat upright. "Augie. Where's Augie?"

He was right. There was something between them. "He's alright. He told us where to find you."

"And the Lieutenant?" she asked, just realizing that Garrison had been there, and now he wasn't.

"He went to give Augie back his stuff."

She relaxed again, laying her head back on his chest. "Augie was right. I had no business making that pick-up. I must've given myself away somehow."

He hugged her closer. It wasn't her fault. She needed to be protected from men like Augie, who'd use her and then leave her to the Germans. She needed to be far away from this whole godforsaken mess.

"Augie is so sweet and patient." A smile lit her voice. "He's taught me everything. He didn't want me to do the pick-up, but I insisted. I was getting so frustrated just running errands and messages."

"Once we get that book, you're comin' back to England with us."

She sat up again, and frowned at him. "Augie didn't give it to you?"

"He has it?"

"That's why I was scared. I thought I'd given him away, too, when I left it with him."

This didn't make sense. He mentally replayed their meeting with Augie earlier that morning, remembering the young man's German accented French. Had the guy just been too concerned with Jeanette's arrest that he'd forgotten to mention he had the book? Did he not know they were the pick-up team? Or was there something else? Now he had a new worry. Was Garrison walking into another trap?

He looked at his watch. Garrison had been gone an hour. With all the twists and turns they'd taken, he had no good sense of how far away Augie's shop was, or how long it would take Garrison to get there and back. How long should he wait before coming up with a new plan? And what plan? If only the others were here...

Chief could feel Jeanette's heart start to race, her tension returning. He gently rubbed her arm. "When the Warden gets back, he'll have the book, and we can split for the coast."

She pushed away from him and leaned against the wall, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. "Augie asked me to marry him."

The knot in his chest tightened again. "He did, did he?"

"There's no future here. Not with the war and the occupation. Maybe, if this ever ends, if we're ever free again..."

"It'll end." He didn't know why he felt he had to lie to her. He agreed with Casino. They were fighting the war all by themselves, and they'd never see the end of it, never be free.

The sputter of the old Citroen's engine was unmistakeable. He let out a sigh of relief, but still slipped the blade into his hand as he pushed off the cot and headed for the window in the front room. Jeanette followed him, the blanket still draped around her shoulders.

Garrison was just climbing out of the driver's seat, and Augie was with him. Chief eased the door open a crack to let them in. Augie pushed past him and rushed into Jeanette's arms, hugging her tightly and whispering to her in French.

Chief tried to ignore the sight of Jeanette in the arms of a man he didn't trust, and he turned to the Warden. "You got the book, right?"

Garrison's brows came together. "No. Did she tell you where she hid it?"

Chief spun and grabbed Augie's arm, dragging him away from Jeanette. "Where'd you put it?"

Augie eyes widened as he tried to back away. "Put what?"

Chief snapped the blade up and pressed it against Augie's jugular, drawing a bead of blood. "The book she gave you. You have it, right?"

Garrison pushed between them, pulling Chief's hand away from the frightened Frenchman's neck, but his glare bored into Augie. "If you have that book, I want to know why you didn't tell me."

Augie rubbed at the bloody spot the knife had left. "I didn't...it's just that...the message told me to give it only to my contact, no one else."

"Who's your contact?" Garrison demanded.

"I only know his code name," Augie stammered.

Garrison took a breath and laid a hand on Augie's shoulder. "I don't know where the signals got crossed, but Chief and I were sent to pick up that book. We need to get it and rendezvous with the sub tonight."

"But..."

"You know me, Augie. We've worked together. The information coded into that book is critical."

Jeanette took his hand and squeezed it. "Augie, the Lieutenant is right. Something just got confused somewhere. Give them the book."

Augie stared at his feet for a moment, then relented. "It's back at my shop."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Garrison rode in the passenger seat, while Augie sat in the back with Jeannette, tending to her cut with supplies from the first aid kit Garrison had brought. Driving on a direct route, Augie's shop wasn't far. Still, Chief circled the block. There was too much foot traffic on the street, so he parked the Citroen in the narrow alley in the back.

Augie led them through his storeroom and into his cramped, windowless office. Reaching into a bottom desk drawer, he pulled the tattered book from the middle of a stack of papers, and hesitated only slightly before handing it to Garrison. It was a cheap volume, with a French title, and a lurid picture on the ragged front cover.

Garrison opened it and slowly turned each dog-eared page, concentrating, as if he were reading it. A smile crossed his face. "This is good. You can barely make out the encryption."

Augie wiped the sweat from his upper lip. "What do I tell my contact when he shows up?"

"Can you get a message to him? Let him know it's been handled?"

"I don't know..."

Chief heard it first, and the blade was back in his hand. Someone was rattling the shop's front door, trying to get in.

"Customers," Augie explained. "I must open the shop."

Augie headed for the front, but Garrison held a finger to his lips, warning them to silence. Chief couldn't see who Augie unlocked the door for, but the voices were unmistakably German, and unhappy. As they listened, Garrison didn't look happy, either.

The German demands became more insistent. Garrison gently guided Jeanette into Augie's desk chair, indicating with his eyes and a gesture that she needed to stay put and stay quiet. He touched Chief's shoulder, beckoning him to follow him through the back door, into the alley.

He knew what the Warden was thinking. Chief reached to his right boot, pulled out his second knife, and handed it to Garrison. They quickly circled to the front, and he followed his commander's lead, casually strolling through the door as if looking for tailoring services. The two men shouting demands at Augie were SS, and the sergeant was pulling handcuffs from his belt.

As the two German's turned at the sound of the opening door, he and Garrison made their moves simultaneously. He punched his blade through the sergeant's ribs, slitting his heart, and he watched as the life drained from the startled dark eyes. Garrison just as silently killed the major.

Augie stood frozen, his eyes wide.

Chief grabbed the dead sergeant under the arms and pulled him toward the back rooms. "Ya wanna give us a hand here?"

Augie rushed to help Garrison maneuver the major in the same direction. Once the bodies were out of sight, Garrison started stripping off the major's jacket. "I'll bring their car around back. We'll load them in the trunk, and I'll get them away from here. Augie, start cleaning up your shop. Don't leave any evidence."

Chief could almost read Garrison's mind. "Where do ya want me to meet you?"

Garrison picked up the book and shoved it inside his shirt, securing it under his belt. "You remember that crumbling bridge we crossed? Give me a ten minute head start, then pick me up there."

Garrison pulled on the major's jacket and put on the cap. "Augie, apparently they're on to you, too. You and Jeanette need to go underground. Can you handle that?"

"Jeanette's comin' with us," Chief insisted.

Garrison frowned at him, but then turned his gaze to the battered, bruised young woman still sitting in Augie's desk chair. "It's your decision," he told her.

She bit her lip, looking from Chief to Augie and back.

When she hesitated, Garrison said, "We have to move. You can come back to England with us, but you only have ten minutes to make a decision."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

After Garrison pulled the Germans' car around to the alley, they forced the two bodies into the trunk, and Chief watched him drive away, the unfamiliar feeling of loneliness returning. He glanced at his watch as he walked back to Augie's office. Ten minutes wasn't a long time.

Jeanette was still huddled in the chair, her knees pulled up, her arms wrapped tightly around them. He could hear Augie busy in the shop, cleaning up the blood.

"C'mon, let's go."

She looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, her sweet mouth puckered into a frown. "I can't."

"You can't stay here."

"My work is here. My life is here."

"You mean he's here." It sounded bitter, and he hadn't meant it to.

She slowly unwrapped her arms and stood, coming so close that he could feel her warmth and her breath. "He needs me."

"They'll kill you. They'll kill both of you."

"Boris..." She pressed her fingers to his lips, and fresh tears escaped her eyes. "I can't."

Chief reached up and lightly touched the bandage taped over the gash on her forehead, slid his fingers down her bruised, swollen cheek, to come to rest at the corner of her mouth. The clean, earthy fragrance he remembered had been replaced with the smell of fear and sweat, but even as battered as she was, she was still sweet and enticing. He gave up fighting, and leaned down to kiss her soft mouth, tangling his fingers in her hair, savoring her taste and her heat. Some part of him heard Augie at the office door, but he no longer cared, as long as she clung to him, responding to his need.

And then it was over. She pushed away, unable to meet his eyes, and choked back a small whimper. "I can't."

He had to leave, before the urge to grab her and force her into the car overwhelmed him. He looked at Augie, still standing in the doorway holding bloody rags and a pail of water. And he looked at Jeanette one last time, lifting her chin to see her eyes. He could tell her to be careful, stay safe, watch her back, but none of it would make any difference. He walked away, closed the door behind him, and drove off to meet Garrison.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

The transfer onto the sub had been sloppy. As much as they practiced, they could never duplicate the conditions of the Channel in a storm. Sitting alone now in the sub's hot, cramped mess, Chief was still sweating, his shirt still clinging to his back, his hair dripping into his eyes. He leaned back against the bulkhead and made a conscious effort to loosen taut muscles, and take deep breaths of the stale air, thick with the smell of sweat and diesel fumes. He craved the oblivion of sleep, but it wouldn't come.

His thoughts drifted back to the convent, when Jeanette had nursed his wounds and his soul. She'd been sunlight and a warm breeze, a refuge from an ugly world. When she'd teased him on the river bank, and cried at the thought of his leaving, he knew then that he would only bring her darkness and destruction. Then it had been him who'd said "I can't".

He opened his eyes at the sound of the hatch squeaking open. Garrison maneuvered through, carrying a tray with bowls and coffee mugs. "There aren't any empty bunks. But I did find food."

The Warden slipped onto the bench across the table from him and pushed one of the bowls and a full coffee cup toward him. The smell of the coffee and oatmeal reminded him that he hadn't eaten much besides some dried fruit and cider in the last 24 hours. He sat up and dug in, but it didn't taste as good as it smelled. He didn't care.

"You okay?" the Warden asked.

He nodded, swallowing a mouthful of oatmeal.

"After we're done with the debriefing, you can hit the rack for the rest of the day."

Suddenly the lumps and sags of his cot back at the mansion seemed surprisingly inviting.

"You did good work back there."

"I almost blew it."

"But you didn't. You held it together. I should put you in an officer's uniform more often."

Chief looked at his commander, trying to decide if he was serious. He hoped not. But it didn't matter. The Warden would do whatever he thought would work.

Garrison finally slid his empty bowl out of the way and picked up his coffee cup. "They'll go to ground for a while, then hook up with a new cell. Augie knows what he's doing."

"Does he? Seems to me he's the one who screwed up this whole caper."

"No, Augie's a good man. War is messy, the wires got crossed somewhere. I'll let the brass sort that out."

"Meanwhile she's riskin' her life trippin' over those crossed wires."

Garrison sighed and took a swallow of his coffee. His hair and clothes were still wet, too, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He leaned over the steaming coffee, as if trying to absorb its energy. "I could tell you she'll be alright. But we both know that would be a lie."

Chief leaned back against the bulkhead again, suddenly feeling the strength drain from his muscles like someone had pulled a plug. He wrapped his hands around his hot cup, holding it until the heat burned his fingers. "It don't matter. She made her choice. Like we all did."


End file.
